How long can I expect my DVDs to last? I hate to think I won’t be able to hand down my Lost box set to my daughter someday.

Physical media like DVDs are dead discs walking. Er, spinning. Whatever. Point is, when your daughter is finally ready for her circular inheritance, she’ll think of DVDs the same way you think of your late grandfather’s Benny Goodman 78s. Why burden your offspring with useless plastic?

Look, your discs could probably last for half a century — that’s the lifespan of a DVD-ROM when it’s treated with the utmost care. Which, let’s face it, is not how you treat them. Your living room gets too cold or too hot, too humid or too dry. And what’s worse, you probably keep those discs in their original packaging. Archivists — who actually care about their discs — store them vertically, in cases that don’t contact the DVDs’ surfaces. You don’t, and that’s why you can’t have nice things.

Luckily, we hear there are methods for ripping those Lost discs for storage in the cloud (Google it). Whoosh! Throw those pieces of worthless plastic away, secure in the knowledge that when your daughter shoves you into an old-folks home, you can exact sweet revenge by making her sit through the program’s entire run. The finale is bound to leave her so confused and dissatisfied that she’ll curse the gift of life you gave her.

Purely by accident, I discovered that a coworker has been lying about his credentials — he claims to have a Microsoft certification that he never earned. Am I obligated to notify our boss?

Time for a little game theory, my friend. Let’s say you follow Robert De Niro’s Goodfellas admonishment to “never rat on your friends and always keep your mouth shut.” But we’ll assume you don’t work for the Mafia — mobsters rarely care about Microsoft certifications. In your less omertà-centric office, you could be in way deeper if the fib comes to light. What happens if someone, say that boss of yours, asks if you knew about the deception? That’s what’s known as the prisoner’s dilemma. Or maybe it’s the stag hunt. We can never keep that game-theory stuff straight.

So here’s what you do: Give your coworker a (gentle) ultimatum. Tell him to set things right or you’re going to tell the boss. Perhaps the guy can take the necessary exams, so that his untruth becomes truth. Or he can come clean with a promise to make amends. If he goes for the latter, you can put in a good word regarding his value to the company. That might increase the odds that your capos will let him off with a reprimand.

If you are eventually forced to tattle, don’t be too bummed out. Your coworker may not send you any Christmas cards, but it’s not like you’ll end up sleeping with the fishes.

What characters can I put in my kid’s name without eventually making her trips to the DMV a living hell? How about a symbol or something else from above the number line?

You’re planning to put a Zapf Dingbat in your child’s name and you’re worried about the DMV? Have you forgotten about that little circle of hell we like to call fourth grade?

Fortunately, The Man looks out for kids saddled with parents of your nonconforming ilk. “We don’t have the ability to do special characters,” says Jeffrey Hammond, a spokesperson for the New York State Department of Health. He means that literally — the computer system the state uses to create birth certificates doesn’t allow for carets, ampersands, or asterisks in the name field. That appears to be the case throughout the nation, too. No “P@rick” or “Ezra #” for you.

When your child comes of age, of course, she can certainly change her name, free from any birth-certificate constraints. But courts generally reject names that are deemed to be “intentionally confusing.” Now, there are precedents in which common punctuation marks have been permitted: A California man born Darren Lloyd Bean, for example, now legally goes by Darren QX Bean!. (He added the exclamation point because friends always greet him with an enthusiastic “Bean!”) But we seriously doubt your progeny will want to put up with the daily headaches that come with selecting a crazy moniker. How well do you think Bean! fares at the DMV? Our guess: Not well. Not well at all.